


In the Thicket

by joycecarolnotes



Category: Silicon Valley (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, I don't know how else to tag this but it's dark, M/M, Roleplay, allusions to past abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-31
Updated: 2017-07-31
Packaged: 2018-12-08 18:02:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11651802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/joycecarolnotes/pseuds/joycecarolnotes
Summary: There is something not right with Jared's desire. Lightness and darkness all twisted up inside him, as if someone tied a knot there once and now it's been like that as long as he can remember.Or: Jared asks Richard to help him enact a long-held non-consensual sex fantasy.





	In the Thicket

**Author's Note:**

> Hi. This is a dark one. Please heed the warning: noncon/abuse is a theme here, although everything actually happening in the story, the characters have agreed to. That discussion is referenced but happens offscreen. If you can't read this in a way that is safe for yourself as well as mature and nonjudgmental and removed from your personal feelings about its creator (me), please stay away from it.

Jared is preparing for sleep when it happens. Fresh from a bath, already in his pajamas, looking forward to nothing more than climbing into their bed. Drifting, at peace, quiet. He switches off the overhead light, and is just pulling back the covers when - 

"What do you think you're doing?"

Richard's voice sounds from the doorway. He leans against the wall and flips back on the lightswitch. 

The question feels strange. After all, Jared normally goes to bed first, Richard still up working. This is part of their routine, and they are nothing if not creatures of habit. But Richard's tone, the smirk on his face, his posture: somehow all of it feels unusually aggressive - _predatory_ , even, Jared thinks - and a blind, instinctual terror, something he hasn't felt in years, slides down Jared's throat and into his stomach like a needle of ice.

This Richard reminds Jared of a Richard he's seen before - maniacal, scheming, a little vindictive, hopped up on lack of sleep - and the starkness of the resemblance frightens him.

"Getting ready for bed, silly," Jared says. He reaches down to fluff a pillow, trying to sound so casual, but knowing others have always been able to smell it on him, that he's never been able to hide the fear he feels. "You know that, Richard. Will you be joining me soon?"

Richard moves toward him quickly, suddenly. Pushes him down onto the bed, face-first, Jared's cheek flush against the coverlet.

"Don't fucking move," he says.

"Richard?"

"Don't call me that. And don't - don't look at me."

With one hand, Richard presses Jared's face down hard into the mattress. The other twists his right arm behind his back.

"Richard, what is this? You're hurting me."

Richard pauses. Swallows. Draws a deep breath. A moment's hesitation.

Then, "give me your other hand," he orders, sounding impatient and petulant. "And I said don't fucking call me that."

"Richard, why, don't - "

Richard, unexpectedly, hits Jared across the face. Not hard. Just shocking. 

"Give me your other hand now or I'll really fucking hurt you."

"Oh - okay."

Jared, his voice shaking, gives in. He stretches back. Feels Richard's grip tight on his wrists and then something tighter wrapping around them, digging into his skin. He hears a sound. A zip tie. Jared fights back a little - grunting and thrashing and kicking out with his legs into the empty air behind him - but there's nothing he can do to stop it as Richard tightens the plastic, and his hands are bound behind his back.

"I honestly love it that you're fighting," says Richard. "It makes this way more fun for me."

 _He always did like a challenge_ , thinks Jared, not unaffectionately.

"Up on your knees," he orders, and Jared struggles to comply.

"Excuse me," Jared says. "What is this?"

But they've talked about this. He knows.

Digging a hand in his hair, Richard pulls Jared's body back, flush against his as he stands on the floor next to their bed, Jared's bound hands trapped between them. Their faces are so close, hot breaths mingling, Jared's skin still flushed and damp from the bath. Fear and apprehension just as hot burn in his stomach at the thought of what Richard will do to him, and mixed in somewhere there is also excitement, and desire like nothing he's ever known before, and Jared shivers so hard he nearly collapses.

Richard wraps an arm around him, in part to hold him upright. He begins to traverse the length of Jared's body with it. Up the inside of a shaking thigh, over a bony hip bone, into the waistband of silky pajama pants.

"Don't do this, please," Jared whimpers.

Up, across skin dusted with the palest, softest hair, pushing up his crisp white t-shirt. Richard brushes Jared's chest, tightens momentarily around his throat, and parts his lips with two fingers, forcing them into his mouth.

"Suck," says Richard. "Unless you want this to be worse for you than it has to be."

Jared nods. He runs his tongue delicately over Richard's fingers. Nearly gags when they shove roughly down his throat.

 _I could bite him_ , he thinks. 

But he doesn't.

Richard eases his grip on Jared's hair. He reaches down to tug Jared's pajama pants and underwear below his hips and pull Jared's cock out over them. For a moment, Richard just holds him, softly, in his hand, as if he's giving some thought to stopping. But then his grip tightens, and he begins to move. 

Jared wills himself not to respond. He thinks of all the small, humiliating betrayals committed by the human body, and silently asks his not to let him down now. 

But soon, he is responding.

Jared's body reacts to the touch, to the fear, to the helplessness, to the cool air stirred by the ceiling fan in their bedroom, to the fingers in his mouth, to the anticipation of what else Richard might do to him, to how forbidden this all is, to the extremity of the situation, to all the emotion that entails, and he feels himself flooded with unwelcome arousal and warmth.

"Yeah," says Richard, hot and close to his ear. "I could tell you'd love this. You fucking slut. You're getting so hard for me."

He takes his fingers out of Jared's mouth then. 

"Wanna - wanna hear you moan."

Jared bites down on his lip like his teeth are a cage holding a wild animal inside it. He _does_ want to moan - so hard, so rough, so good, the feeling shamefully delicious - but he swore to himself that he would not give Richard the satisfaction of hearing his delight.

Richard loosens his grip, moves his hand so it barely reaches Jared's cock, and Jared has to jerk his hips up, searching for it.

"There you go. Fuck yourself on my hand. You want it so bad. We both know you can't live without it."

"Please," Jared whimpers. But he's not sure what he's asking.

"Please what?"

"Don't."

But he's not sure he means that.

And then Richard's thumb glances over his tip, toying with him, and Jared - finally - betrays himself and moans with pleasure.

"That's it. I knew you'd be easy. Knew I could make you come without even trying."

"I don't - don't want - "

"Yes you do."

That confident, direct tone in Richard's voice, dear god, one more firm stroke and Jared wails, shaking, sounding like he's in pain, and then he comes, the orgasm hitting him so hard he nearly faints, gasping _oh oh oh_ , and heaving and panting and sobbing, and it feels endless, the burning tear of plastic at his wrists, soft sheets beneath him as he collapses face-first onto the mattress, Richard's breath at his neck, the smell of his own pleasure, Richard's hand stroking and stroking and stroking him as long as it takes. 

Jared barely has a chance to breathe, a chance to wonder _is it over already?_ , before Richard is peeling his pants and underwear the rest of the way down his thighs. His whole body tenses as a finger traces his opening, circling its way around the rim. It presses in all at once, mostly dry and fast and callous, and Jared feels a single tear slip out of his eye, rolling slowly down his cheek and landing on the mattress. 

"Are you crying," Richard says, a little mockingly. "That's alright. Seeing you cry is half the pleasure. Wait until I shove my dick inside you. You better be very good or I'll do it dry."

"Don't. Don't. You're hurting me." 

A second finger, stretching. Opening him up.

"Oh, please stop it," Jared pleads, and his voice is wet and broken and useless. He's wanted this - oh how he's wanted this - in shame, in silence, in secrecy - but now that it is happening he's not sure that he can take it. He feels dizzy, suffocating, weak.

"Don't tell me to stop again."

Richard twists his fingers around inside, and Jared wails. It hurts, it hurts. He tries to kick back at Richard, feebly, meeting only air.

"Hey. Relax," Richard urges, and his voice is almost kind then, and his fingers go suddenly still. He strokes a hand over the side of Jared's face, as if to calm him, and gently pets his sweaty hair. It reminds Jared of how he's seen people treat wild animals, and he wonders if, maybe - right now - he is one. "Struggle like that and you'll only make this worse for yourself. And you don't want that, do you, glasshole?"

"No," Jared says, at last, feeling his willpower breaking, his cheeks flushing with hot shame.

He thinks maybe it was a mistake to give Richard that list of Things You Could Say or Call Me. Part of a larger set of instructions Jared had delivered as professionally as if they were product specs. Some of them so personal and specific even Richard must've known they were taken from unkind people in his past.

The way this whole thing is a bit of a reenactment.

Richard's fingers slip out, as quickly as they'd pushed inside him. Jared hears Richard rustling around with something. The sound of a zipper, a belt. He thinks, _I could try to run now_ , but he doesn't. And then Richard is back, two hands between his legs, moving up the insides of his thighs, saying "open up" and "yeah spread wider for me," and then he's prying Jared apart with his hands, leaning in so close Jared can feel his breath on him, and he could swear he hears Richard say, quietly, "gulp."

Jared thinks of how he must look, spread open, so docile and compliant, vulnerable and humiliated and exposed.

 _I'm asking you to do this because I trust you_ , he'd said. And here he is now, pushed to the extreme outer limits of his trust.

Waiting, waiting. Jared braces himself for the pain he knows will come. When it does, he muffles his shout into the mattress. Takes a moment to note his gratitude that Richard seems to be using copious lubrication. Nearly cries with relief that this - this moment - this thing he's desired and feared and dreaded, and kept himself up at night fantasizing about - is finally here. 

"Oh god. It's too much. Stop it."

"What did I just say about that?"

"I'm sorry." Jared sobs.

Richard presses further, further further further, until eventually Jared gives in, and he doesn't fight back anymore, doesn't make a sound, doesn't ask for it to be over, just concentrates on how it feels. Harder, faster, filled up completely. Taken, just the way he wants it. Fingers digging into soft flesh. Scrawny hips pounding against him, leaving bruises in their wake. 

He exists - in this moment - only for Richard's enjoyment. To be defiled, ravished, used. To satisfy Richard's needs and desires, without requesting even the most rudimentary comforts of his own. This is the truth laid bare about him. Something Jared has secretly feared about himself his whole life.

"Fuck," Richard sighs. "You're so tight. Feels so good. You were born to be fucked like this."

It burns, it burns. Jared grits his teeth.

And then, in the pain, he begins to find the pleasure.

There is something not right with Jared's desire. Lightness and darkness all twisted up inside him, as if someone tied a knot there once and now it's been like that as long as he can remember. A jumbled thicket, spiked with thorns. Dark and dangerous. Someplace you can't reach into without ending up getting hurt.

The things he wants: they make him sick and turn him on in equal measure. 

The things he wants: he doesn't know if they were always the things he would have wanted, or if they were forced on him.

 _Trying to recreate your trauma_ , a self-help book he borrowed from the college library said.

"I knew you'd love this," says Richard, and he sounds breathless as he says it. A hand in Jared's hair. Panting and gasping. Each word punctuated by a firmer, harder thrust. "It's so easy. Bent over like that. Waiting for me. Meine kleine Schlampe. You can pretend you don't want it but I know the truth about you. You get hard and you get off to this."

With the next stroke, Richard nudges something deep inside him, and then again, again, direct and ceaselessly, without mercy, and it feels so good, Jared can't hide the way it makes his entire body shake. 

"Aha," Richard says, a little mean and teasing. "Think I can make you come just like this? Or do you want my hand on your dick?"

Jared pants and moans and moves his hips feebly, trying to get away. But there is nowhere to get away to. And he doesn't really want to anyway.

"Beg," Richard says, right into his ear, hot and low, pulling Jared close and going still for a moment, buried deep inside him. "Beg me to let you come again. I can tell you want it. You wanted me for so long. It's so hot how you're so desperate for me. You would do anything."

Jared shakes his head. He wants it. He does want it. But he isn't going to say that.

"Beg," Richard says again. "For me?"

It's the _for me_ that does it, said like a question, how it reveals that - even pretending at being in control - Richard is still not sure of anything, and Jared finally gives in. "Please," he gasps. "Please, Richard. Please please please please please."

Richard grabs tight to Jared's hip and starts to move again. Harder. Faster. He wraps an arm around Jared and holds him and he comes, at last, his ultimate fantasy - his most shameful, treasonous secret, the one he's thought about for years - fulfilled, and he goes weak with satisfaction and gratitude, babbling _oh god oh god oh god_ and _thank you thank you thank you_ , clenching and unclenching around Richard until he also finds his release.

"Look what you did," Richard says, and there's a smile in his voice as he reaches down to smear each of their come all over Jared's chest and stomach.

 _Make me feel dirty_ , he'd said. _But after, be kind to me_. 

The restraints are removed from his wrists. Richard cleans him up, lays him down gently against the coverlet. Places careful kisses to the places where his skin is sore.

"So, uh," Richard says, very shyly. "Jared, was I - I mean - was that good for you, too?"


End file.
